


Hopeless

by becausenobreeches (crucibulis)



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Anal Sex, Biting, Canonical Character Death, Declarations Of Love, Developing Relationship, Dirty Talk, Enthusiastic Consent, Light Angst, Lyrium Addiction, M/M, No Plot/Plotless, Rimming, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-11
Updated: 2015-05-14
Packaged: 2018-03-04 16:09:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 10,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3074003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crucibulis/pseuds/becausenobreeches
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of Dorian/Cullen shorts, loosely threaded together. AU in which Cullen has a mabari.</p><p>(5/14/2015 update: added 2 drabbles from tumblr that were written in this AU)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Dorian’s hand was shaking as he hovered it over his patient, sensing the strength of the soul within, or rather the lack thereof. He tried his best to focus on its lingering presence, ignoring the exhaustion and the cold and the lingering sense of hopelessness that permeated the camp, but all three of those things were sinking into his bones now, and he, for one, intended on surviving through this ordeal.

The man he was tending to, would not be so lucky. Dorian had no great skill as a healer; and even if he had, Roderick was too far gone. All he could do was make him comfortable, shielding him from the cold with all the magic he could call upon.

And perhaps, more mundanely, to ensure he did not die alone. Roderick did not appear to be well liked, and so in that one regard they belonged together: a Chancellor of the Southern Chantry and a Tevinter mage.

Hearing small footsteps slushing through the snow, he looked up to see a mabari, wandering toward him with a curious look in her eye.

“Well, hello there,” he greeted the animal, and eyed over the familiar markings on her back. “Aren't you the Commander's dog?”

The mabari whimpered pathetically, and wandered closer to nudge her nose against Dorian’s thigh. He set aside any complaints about Fereldan dog stink for a later time.

“Something wrong?” he asked instead, feeling just the tiniest bit silly for speaking to a dog like it was a person, though he knew she understood.

The mabari lifted up one paw and licked at it, allowing Dorian to see the red stain of blood.

“Oh! Are you injured?” Dorian reached out for the dog’s paw. “Let me see…” he offered, and the dog complied with another high-pitched whine.

Dorian tutted as he saw the cut in the pad of her foot. “Oh, that's not _too_ bad. I think I have enough left to--” He stopped mid-sentence and concentrated on sending the last bit of magic within him into the wound. _“There_ we go.”

The mabari pulled away and barked happily at him, wagging her tail in what Dorian assumed was gratitude.

“Heh, no trouble at all,” he smiled wearily. “I’ve never healed a dog before,” he admitted, then turned to Roderick, watching him for a few moments to catch the slight movement of his chest rising and falling. “Perhaps I’d have better success with your kind than I’ve had with people,” he joked, though his heart wasn’t in it.

“It’s her!” he heard someone shout suddenly, and Dorian whipped around to look. A voice he recognized as the Commander’s echoed through the camp, shouting out names and instructions, and though Dorian still couldn’t see what had caused the commotion, he thought he knew.

Beside him, the mabari perked up her ears, standing as tall as she could, but interestingly, didn’t move from her spot next to Dorian. The two of them watched as Cullen came into view, carrying the motionless Herald in his arms like a groom might carry a bride, shielding her from the cold with his tall, imposing form.

“Well isn't that just something out of a fairy tale,” Dorian commented to the dog, then shared a pondering look with her. “You think if _I_ faced down an archdemon and a would-be god, he would carry _me_ like that?”

The dog let out an interested sort of growl, and panted at Dorian, which he chose to take as agreement. Thus, he leaned in closer. “Don't tell your master I said this,” he murmured. “But he's a rather strapping man.”

The mabari’s answering _woof_ was the most hopeful thing he’d heard all day.

  
Up until the singing started, anyhow.


	2. Chapter 2

Much heavier footsteps trudged through the snow later, and Dorian turned from where he was hunched over his patient to see the Commander himself approaching.

 _“Lord Dorian,”_ Cullen greeted him, voice thick with a sort of exhausted distrust. Dorian gave him an unimpressed look up and down, but was too cold and drained of mana himself to think of a witty remark. Cullen stood over Roderick for a moment and then turned to the mage. “How is he?”

Dorian shook his head solemnly and shivered. “It's only a matter of time now... he's hanging on by a thread.”

“Hmm…” Cullen grunted, brow creasing sorrowfully. “A shame. You've done all you could, I'm sure of that much. I can _feel_ how drained you are–-” The Commander was interrupted as his mabari decided to join the conversation, nudging her snout against her master’s leg. “All right, Dagonye?” Cullen asked and reached down to massage behind her ears.

“You sent her over here to keep an eye on me, didn't you, Commander?” Dorian accused teasingly.

Cullen looked up, eyes going wide for a moment before he recovered. “I... _might_ have…” he answered with a guilty smirk. “She seems to like you well enough, though.”

“Yes, well…” Dorian crossed his arms, standing a little straighter as he smiled down at the dog. “I bribed her with healing and secrets,” he half-admitted and half-accused.

The Commander glanced down at the mabari and then looked back at Dorian. “Healing and secrets, eh? Was she hurt?”

“Just a small cut on the pad of her foot,” Dorian shrugged. “Nothing major.”

“Well, thank you for that,” Cullen sighed, his breath becoming mist in the cold air. “I'm apparently a neglectful master,” he joked self-deprecatingly.

“Yes, she had a lot to say in that regard, while we were sitting here,” Dorian complained, playing along. “I got quite the earful.”

“She is quite talkative, isn't she?” Cullen concurred, looking down at the dog with affection in his eyes. The mabari answered this with a sulky little _woof_.

This exchange certainly did not make Dorian’s frigid heart melt a little in his chest.

“Dagonye, was it?” he inquired of her master. “Not a very flattering name.”

 _“I_ did not name her,” Cullen replied with a shrug. “Her former master died at the conclave. I found her near one of the cabins at Haven –- no dogs allowed you see. The late Divine was allergic.”

“Ah,” Dorian said with a single nod of his head.

Cullen took to combing at the hair at the back of Dagonye’s neck with his fingers, a comforting motion. “I tried to explain to her what happened, but she ran off to see for herself,” he said quietly.

Dorian gave Dagonye a sympathetic look. “Poor thing,” he pouted.

“She came back a few days later,” Cullen continued. “And she's been slumming it with me ever since,” he said, giving Dorian a small smile. He was doing that adorable self-deprecating thing again, Dorian could tell.

“Oh come now. Don't Fereldans consider it quite an honor to be chosen by a mabari?” he pointed out.

“They do,” Cullen nodded. “And I am grateful for the company. It is indeed lonely at the top," he said wistfully.

“Oh, don’t worry,” Dorian said with a wicked grin. “It can be lonely for the bottom, too,” he joked, because he was a clever and absolutely awful human being.

 **  
**Cullen pretended not to get the joke, but Dorian was pretty sure that he did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dagonye is Cullen's wing-woman.


	3. Chapter 3

“Yes, but where exactly is the elf taking us?” Cullen whispered, not wanting the entirety of the camp to hear his frustration.

Lady Trevelyan sighed, eyes dragging across the snow on the ground. “I don’t know--”

“How can you _not know?”_ Cullen cut in, glaring at her with wild eyes. “You do realize we have precious little supplies… no food, hardly any tents or blankets... If we don’t find what we’re looking for soon, we’re going to die up here in these mountains,” he scolded.

“I know, Cullen. I just need you to trust me for a little bit longer,” the Herald pleaded.

“I _do_ trust _you_ , m’lady, but what about--”

“Ser,” Cullen whipped around and turned his glare on of the spymaster’s scouts. “Sister Leliana requests that you look over the new rotation for the lookouts and guards,” the man said.

“Alright,” the Commander sighed, taking the offered parchment. “If you’ll excuse me, Your Worship,” he said gruffly, pointedly dismissing everyone in the vicinity since if he didn’t, he was probably going to yell at someone. She walked away without any sort of reply, and Cullen winced, knowing he should chase her down and apologize.

But his head chose that particular moment to remind him he needed lyrium, reminders that he had purposefully ignored for several months. Now, the cravings made him feel like his consciousness was trying to forcibly escape from his skull. He held his forehead up with one gloved hand, bracing against it while he attempted to read the report.

Realizing he hadn't absorbed anything written on the page, he looked up and caught sight of Dorian, looking almost as miserable as Cullen felt.

He was kneeling on the ground, balancing with his staff, in a posture reminiscent of when Cullen had first seen him, outside the gates of Haven and surrounded by dead enemies. Only now, his only struggle was warming himself by a small magic-assisted fire. Cullen could see him shivering, in his warm-weather attire that left one of his arms exposed. Dorian was a long way from home.

Feeling a pang of sympathy, Cullen looked down at Dagonye, who sat silent and majestic beside him. She began to wag her tail with interest, always ready to do whatever Cullen asked.

“Hey, Dagonye,” he knelt down in the snow and spoke to her, just a murmur in her ear, while he scratched behind her ears. “Why don't you go spend some time with Lord Dorian? I think he could use a… a friend.”

Dagonye answered with an ecstatic bark, but still waited for Cullen to nod to her in dismissal, before turning and trotting over to the mage.

Cullen watched as Dorian greeted her warmly, sharing some joke with her that Cullen couldn’t quite hear over the wind. The two of them cuddled up together next to the fire, and already Dorian looked more at ease. He looked up and met eyes with Cullen.

Startling at being caught, Cullen cut his eyes away quickly, trying to look like he hadn’t been watching, before realizing that was ridiculous. Dorian was a Tevinter mage, and Cullen would be damned if he would be scared or embarrassed around the likes of him. He forced himself to make eye contact and smile.

 **  
**It would take Cullen a long time to figure out why his heart did a weird thing in his chest, when Dorian smiled back, helpless and hopeful all at once.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cliiiimb every mountainnnn... ford every streaaammm... Follow every RAAAIIIINNNBOWWWW. 'Til you find your -- ahem. Excuse me. I accidentally broke into song. As you do.


	4. Chapter 4

Cullen knew he should probably say something, as Dorian approached him entirely unaware, not paying attention to where he was going. But instead he just watched the mage mutter to himself and count on his fingers, until Dorian was scarcely a foot away. Only then did Cullen muster up the decency to speak.

“Morning--”

“Oh!” Dorian yelped, clutching his chest like his heart was trying to leap out of it. He was doubly startled when he heard his own voice echo through the main hall of Skyhold. “Maker's balls, Commander! You scared the shite out of me!” he rasped.

Cullen chuckled at this. “I didn't know it was possible to startle someone by standing still."

“Well you did, and I'd thank you _kindly_ not to do it again,” Dorian answered with mock sternness, a certain gleam in his eye that stopped Cullen cold. He inadvertently leaned in to get a better look.

“What, too early in the morning for sarcasm?” Dorian mused.

“No, it's just…” Cullen said, entirely too distracted to be witty. “Your _eyes...”_

Dorian blinked twice, deliberate and calculated. “What about them?”

“Are you--” Cullen squinted. “Wearing _kohl?”_

"Just a bit,” Dorian said. “You don't like it?” he pouted, the black lines around his eyes making the expression more pronounced.

“No! I mean, yes! -- I mean I…” Cullen stammered, feeling his cheeks heat up. Maker, he was blushing in front of the Tevinter. “It looks... good on you,” he forced himself to admit.

“You think so?”

By the grace of Andraste, at that moment the Herald herself appeared to save him. “Here you are, Commander,” she said, handing Cullen the potion he’d been waiting on. “Good morning, Dorian.”

“Good morning, Inquisitor,” Dorian answered with the slightest bow of his head.

“You have my thanks, Your Worship,” Cullen said softly, embarrassed to have the exchange witnessed by another, but still wanting to be polite.

“Don’t mention it. I’ll see you in the war room,” the Herald said with a kind smile, and wandered away, leaving Cullen there with Dorian and his suspicious glare.

“So…” the mage started, narrowing his very pronounced eyes. “You have the Inquisitor fetching potions for you from the undercroft.”

“Yes…?” Cullen answered, his own eyes wandering off to the side to avoid saying more than he wanted.

“Are you incapable of going in there yourself?” Dorian scoffed. “Do you not think the Herald of Bloody Andraste has better things to do?”

“I…” Cullen cleared his throat, mentally swallowing the blasphemous swear since it was really directed at him and maybe he deserved it. “Lady Trevelyan and I have an understanding. I'd rather not speak of it,” he said, trying to keep his voice the perfect mixture of curt and courtesy.

Dorian tilted his head up in a knowing way that made Cullen extremely nervous. “Oh,” he said quietly. “Oh _I_ see.”

Cullen frowned. “You d-do?”

The mage closed his eyes and hummed a smug, amused little laugh. “Of course,” he said, then leaned in closer, so close Cullen could feel the heat of him.

“The smithy doesn't like me either,” Dorian half-whispered. “I thought it was because I was a Tevinter, and a mage besides, but perhaps... he doesn't like anyone prettier than he is,” he shrugged.

“Perhaps, err... not,” Cullen managed.

“Well, I'd better go and face the glaring, since I don't have an Inquisitor to fetch things for _me...”_ the mage sighed, wandering off. He gave Cullen one last secretive look out of the corner of his eye before disappearing through the door.

 **  
******

Cullen had the unsettling feeling he hadn't gotten away with anything... anything at all.


	5. Chapter 5

The next morning, Dorian got up early. Too early. If earliness was capable of being measured in such a fashion, it would have been somewhere in between dreadfully early and annoyingly early. He found himself yawning all the way down to the undercroft, but was pleased that he managed to catch the Inquisitor in the act of concocting something at the potions table.

He wandered to the other side of the work station, and stood there watching, until the Herald looked up from her task, a somewhat guarded expression on her face.

“Good morning, Inquisitor,” Dorian said warmly.

“Good morning?” she answered, looking confused. There was a long silence, where Dorian unabashedly flit his gaze between her and her work.

“Did you need something, Dorian?” the Inquisitor said at last.

“Oh no,” Dorian insisted. “Just… observing. Please, continue.”

To her credit, Lady Trevelyan did try to do just that, focusing on heating some water in a vial with a fire spell. However it soon faltered and she looked pointedly at the other mage. _“Dorian.”_

“Hmm?” he answered innocently.

“You’re making me nervous with your... hovering,” she griped.

Dorian chose to ignore that. “So Embrium and Elfroot. A simple pain potion, then? Who’s it for?”

“Oh... no one in particular…” the Herald answered, avoiding eye contact.

“Wouldn’t happen to be for the Commander would it?” Dorian pressed. “Like yesterday?”

“I… I couldn’t say.”

Dorian rolled his eyes. These Southerners really needed to learn how to lie properly. “What’s the matter with him?” he demanded.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” the Inquisitor said, as if pained, looking back at her vial of water.

“Oh, I think you do.”

She huffed out an exasperated sigh. “Well even if I did, which I don’t--" Then she looked up and saw the  _I'm not buying it_ glare Dorian was giving her. "I'm not supposed to tell anyone, Dorian!!!”

“Oh, pshh,” he dismissed that notion with a wave of his hand. “Alright, how about this. I'll tell you what I think I know, and then you can tell me whether I'm right.”

The Herald’s eyes darted around the room. “I don't think that's how secrets work.”

“Sure it is! So here goes,” Dorian said cheerily. “Cullen used to be a templar. Templars take lyrium. _Lyrium_ is addictive. Cullen is _addicted_ to lyrium, but he stopped taking it. You're making him a potion to help him with the effects of withdrawal.”

The Inquisitor only pouted at him in silent affirmation, so Dorian continued.

“Cullen can't come in here with you, because Dagna works with lyrium in here, and he doesn't want to face the temptation. So he meets you outside.”

Trying to ignore him, she picked up a knife and began poutedly cutting some Embrium petals.

“You know it works much better if you crush them instead of slicing,” Dorian pointed out helpfully. “Have you tried adding Amrita Vein?”

At that, the Inquisitor set the knife back down on the table with a frustrated thunk. She looked back up at Dorian and glared. “Perhaps you'd like to do this yourself?” she offered, throwing up her hands.

Dorian beamed, having gotten what he wanted. “As a matter of fact, I would.”

It wasn’t that Dorian _liked_ the Commander or anything. It was really just that he owed him a debt for his kindness. For letting his dog slobber all over Dorian and be friends with him when he was sad. That was all. Just a kindness for a kindness.

That was all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have this headcanon that Miss Lady Trevelyan Inquisitor is really bad at keeping secrets. She is like this perfect mixture of cute and deadly.


	6. Chapter 6

Cullen woke with a start, sitting up straight in the bed and coming face to face with Dagonye. She tilted her head to the side in concern, then leaned forward to give him a comforting lick on the forehead.

He smiled at her. It was always easier to wake up with with the mabari there, for Cullen trusted her to know whether there was any danger nearby. If Dagonye was calm, that meant that he could be calm, too. That his dream had not somehow followed him into the waking world. He let go of a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, and patted her on the head as he looked over to his bedside table.

Sure enough, as had been the case on several mornings prior, there was a potion sitting there waiting for him.

“One of these days I’m going to figure out who’s doing this,” Cullen mumbled as he stretched out his back and arms and then reached over for the flask. “The Inquisitor has denied any involvement.”

Dagonye answered this with the tiniest of yowls.

“Well, whoever it is they must be on your good side,” Cullen teased her, then knocked back the potion in one gulp.

Then something occurred to him as he swallowed. “Or perhaps...” he said, narrowing his eyes at the dog. “They _bribed you,”_ he accused.

Dagonye hunched down, pulling her ears flat against her head and whining at him guiltily.

That told Cullen everything he needed to know.

 

* * *

 

Dorian prided himself on his multitasking capabilities. He stood in the library reading a tome on advanced barrier magic, while simultaneously keeping watch out of his tower window for any interesting activity. And even then, the Commander didn’t manage to sneak up on him this time. Dorian looked back out of the corner of his eye, as he heard the sound of boots approach and then stop at the edge of his little nook.

“Thank you,” Cullen said softly.

“Hm?” Dorian replied, turning on his heel. “What are we thanking me for?”

The other man snorted. “You know what,” he said with a shy smile.

Dorian let his eyes wander to the ceiling, a perfect picture of innocence as he shrugged.

“It tastes… slightly different I noticed,” the Commander added.

“Yes, I took the liberty of modifying the Inquisitor's recipe, for maximum effect,” Dorian boasted. Couldn’t help himself, he was proud of his alchemical work. “But the important question,” he said, taking a step towards Cullen as he closed his book. “Is how do you feel?”

“Well, I'm not cured, or anything…” Cullen answered, rubbing the back of his neck like an apology was in order. “The cravings are still there. And my head… still feels like there’s a part of me that wants to be somewhere else. But the pain... honestly, I feel so good I could kiss you for it,” he said, giving Dorian a surprisingly wolfish grin.

Now _there_ was an fascinating side effect, Dorian mused.

“Was that the arrangement you had with the Herald?” he inquired, smirking as Cullen was taken aback.

“What – no! Of course not! I wouldn't–” the Commander’s voice went a bit lower, both in pitch and volume. “I mean, I _would_... but... I wouldn't!”

Dorian couldn’t help but snicker at him. “Well which is it, would you, or wouldn't you?” he laughed.

Cullen looked over both his shoulders, which was amusing to watch with his fur cloak getting in the way. “Not that I don't find her kissable,” Cullen murmured once he was satisfied no one else could hear. “It's just... no. That would be an awful idea,” he decided, shaking his head in earnest.

“How come?” Dorian asked with an interested tilt of his head.

“She just…” Cullen sighed. “Reminds me of someone. Too much. Someone from my past.”

Dorian hummed thoughtfully. “I see. And what about me?”

“What... _about_ you?” the Commander replied, seeming to stumble over the words. Dorian was having way too much fun making the other man blush.

“Do I remind you of anyone from your dark and mysterious templar-ey past?” he asked, feinting from the question he’d previously implied, just to play hard to get.

“No…” Cullen smiled. “No I believe you're one of a kind, Lord Dorian.”

 **  
**Dorian elatedly took note that this time, the title was spoken with affection instead of disdain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which I address the fact that my Inquisitor mage looks a lot like my mage from Origins.


	7. Chapter 7

Cullen’s sword seemed heavier in his hand. Everything pressed down on him now, the air, the clashing sounds of battle, the eerie green light from the nearby hole in reality.

The undeniable fact that they were gone, that he was still trying to deny.

“Sir, without the Herald, how do we close the rift?!” a nearby soldier called out to him.

“I don’t know,” Cullen answered, slicing through a shade demon as if it were the horrifying truth itself. He couldn’t believe. He couldn’t let himself accept it just yet. “We need to give the Wardens time to get to safety, then we retreat.”

At that moment, the rift flickered, glowing brighter for a fleeting second, before something else fell out of it and onto the stone beneath. Cullen got into stance, grieving the loss of his templar powers on top of everything else, before recognizing a familiar moustache and Tevinter style of armor.

“Dorian!” he called out desperately, dropping his sword as he ran over to the other man. If Dorian was alive, then maybe... “What happened? Are you alright? Where are the others?! _Where is the Herald?”_ he demanded, offering the mage a hand to get him to his feet, and supported his faltering weight.

“One question at a time, _please…”_ Dorian scolded, his voice hoarse as he shut his eyes against the barrage of questions, or perhaps the answers. “We were in the Fade. Physically. No, I'm not alright. _Mentally..._ and the others were just behind me...” he trailed off, looking back in horror at the rift.

Still clinging to hope, Cullen barely saw the fireball in time. He grabbed at Dorian and pulled him to himself, protecting both of them from the demonic flames with his shield.

Even with the intimate moment of being in Cullen’s arms surrounded by fire, Dorian was still focused on the rift. “I have to go back--” he shouted, but Cullen caught his hand just in time.

“No! Dorian, you can't--”

“I'd like to see you _stop me,”_ the mage growled, pulling against his grip and glaring daggers behind the collar of his robes.

Cullen’s heart shattered. They were both about to lose their friends and he, in his denial, had to be the voice of reason. “Dorian, you _can't,”_ he pleaded, squeezing the mage’s hand for emphasis. “If you were physically in the Fade, then... the only reason you survived going in is because you were with the Herald. You _can't_ go back,” he reiterated, his voice cracking with it.

Seconds went by. Finally Dorian sighed, his whole posture collapsing as he accepted Cullen’s words, closing his eyes. _“Oh, Maker,”_ he breathed. _“Please bring them back to us.”_

It was the first time Cullen had ever heard the man pray.

He took a step closer to Dorian, and then another, only then pulling his hand away to put it on the mage's shoulder. “He will,” he promised, with absolutely no authority whatsoever.

Dorian’s brow stitched together as he met Cullen’s eyes. He’d never looked more vulnerable. Time seemed to stand still for a moment as they looked at each other, caught there between hope and despair.

Only the low, sadistic growl of a pride demon coming through the rift got their attention, both men slowly turning their heads towards the towering source of the sound as they backed away.

Cullen thought quickly and stepped forward, standing in front of Dorian with his shield held up to protect them both. “Can you fight?” he shouted behind him.

 _“Please,_ this is small potatoes compared to what I’ve just been through,” Dorian joked hollowly.

 **  
**Cullen could hear the lie in his voice and commanded Dagonye to guard him for the remainder of the fight.


	8. Chapter 8

Somehow he made it all the way back to their camp, arm around Cullen’s shoulder for support. It was difficult to say exactly why he was about to pass out. Perhaps his body just couldn’t handle the shock of coming in and out of the Fade. Maybe he had really overexerted his magic that much. Or maybe it had just been too long since he’d had breakfast.

Dorian could have feigned even more weakness if he wanted to, and gotten the Commander to carry him back to his tent like he had envisioned all those many moons ago, but opted to maintain his dignity instead. He figured Dagonye would tell on him anyway, as she always seemed to.

Once they had made it to Cullen’s tent (which was closer, the Commander insisted), the warrior situated Dorian onto a pile of furs, and then knelt in front of him, still holding Dorian upright as he reached for the clasp of his robe.

“You need to save your strength,” Cullen said softly when the mage stiffened a little. “May I?”

It took a moment for Dorian to realize what he was asking, before he nodded wearily, giving Cullen permission to disrobe him. He watched through heavy lids, trying to make sense of everything as the other man fumbled with all of the buckles and straps.

“Is this a dream?” he mumbled at last.

Cullen looked up into his eyes. “No?” he answered with a ruffled brow.

“Perhaps I'm not out of the Fade after all,” Dorian thought aloud. “Maybe I’m still stuck somehow--”

“Dorian.” Cullen put his hands on Dorian’s shoulders, gazing at him with pleading eyes. “This is real. _I'm real,”_ he insisted.

“There’s a handsome man taking off my clothes. That's not real,” Dorian pouted.

Cullen’s soft laugh was like music. “I just figured you'd be more comfortable,” he explained. “Sleeping in leathers doesn't seem like it would be very... comfortable,” he said shyly and went back to his task.

“Oh…” Dorian sighed, exhaustion and longing pulling at him so he couldn’t still his tongue. “I only wish…” he blurted out, before stopping himself.

The other man looked back up at him, as if encouraging him to continue, so Dorian let out a heavy sigh and relented. “I only wish you were doing it for more romantic reasons,” he confessed.

Cullen’s eyebrows shot up, and the words hung there in the air for a long moment. Dorian was on the verge of apologizing when suddenly there were lips on his.

Cullen kissed him mournfully, not much more than a press of lips but it was enough to convey greater meaning. Dorian deepened the kiss only a little, enough to convey he understood, and stroked at the nape of Cullen’s neck, the other man’s fingers finding their way into Dorian’s hair.

Cullen pulled away slightly, lips still brushing against lips as he pressed their foreheads together. “Save that thought for later.” Another kiss. “Alright?” he murmured, with a stroke of his gloved thumb behind Dorian’s ear.

Dorian answered with another weary nod, and Cullen finally broke himself away to work on removing Dorian’s boots. The mage watched this, running his tongue over where he could still taste Cullen on his lips.

“Is it later yet?” he asked spitefully after a few moments. Cullen just snorted and shook his head as he pulled off a boot and set it aside.

  
“How about now?”


	9. Chapter 9

He watches reverently from the dark, far enough away that the firelight doesn't reach his face and the words barely reach his ears. Dorian is occupied with a mirror and razor, carefully shaving the corners of his mouth and the edges of his mustache. He wonders if Dorian cares so much about his appearance on his account.

The Inquisitor sits close to Dorian and stares into the fire, and speaks of things Cullen would probably rather not know. But he's been there, knows what it's like to be on the inside looking out, envying those who are ignorant of the horrors that lay just beyond the Veil. They need each other now, need to figure this out and heal on their own, and his envy of their friendship is entirely unworthy.

“A grey HAIR! What have you DONE to me, WOMAN!” Dorian shrieks at her, and she laughs so hard she nearly falls off the rock she's sitting on.

Cullen smiles in the darkness and prays that Dorian grows old.

When they're alone, Dorian fills his mouth with Cullen's cock so he won't have to talk about it, so Cullen will be too breathless to ask what happened in the Fade. He looks down at Dorian when he's spent, a tiny dribble of come running down the hairs of his perfectly trimmed mustache, face flush from bringing himself off with his hand. Cullen doesn't have the heart to tell him he wasn't going to ask.

Mostly, they just ride, from sunrise to sunset, uphill all the way back to Skyhold if Dorian is to be believed. The mage looks better on a horse than anyone has a right to, and it becomes a guilty pleasure of Cullen’s to ride behind him. Although riding beside him and listening to the musings of his fascinating mind is just as welcome a distraction. He almost doesn’t notice his cravings, or the aches that are sinking back into his bones, or the heaviness in his heart from those they'd lost. 

He’s almost sad to arrive back at the keep, until he hears Dorian sigh to his horse, “It's good to be home.”

Cullen gawks at him and smiles only long enough to rouse suspicion, but doesn't say anything when pressed... lest Dorian realize what he said.

He’s not even half surprised when Dorian appears in his office that night, black-lined eyes and his most easily-removed clothes (that are still a pain). It’s the mage who startles when Cullen hoists him onto his desk and presses hard against him, and Dorian rewards him with a delicious moan and fingers twisted in his hair. 


	10. Chapter 10

Beneath him Dorian swears in Tevene, something fricative and scathing that Cullen doesn't need to understand to know it's equal parts hatred and desire. He bends down and kisses him rough to shut him up, lips almost splitting from the pressure but Dorian's tongue is soft and inviting even as it explores his mouth. Two hands grab for his ass, pulling him in deeper to Dorian's heat, and both of them sigh in a dissonant sort of harmony. Dorian's eyes roll so far back in his head it exposes his neck, and Cullen grazes his teeth along his jaw as he feels ringed fingers tease at the ring of muscle.

“So, what was that –- ungh! --  you were saying about fucking the smirk off my face?” Dorian taunts between ragged breaths.

Cullen answers with a snap of his hips. “Apparently, you're incorrigible,” he says, fingers digging into the underside of Dorian's thigh to punish him for teaching Cullen the word.

“Aww, don't write me off as a lost cause just yet,” Dorian croons and smirks again.

Cullen covers him with his body, sinking his teeth into the place where his shoulder becomes his neck, and fucks him in long, inevitable strokes. Dorian lets out a shuddering sigh. “Still haven't had enough, have you?” Cullen growls dangerously in his ear.

 _“More,_ Amatus,” Dorian demands through gritted teeth, nails digging into Cullen's back like spurs, wrapping his legs around the other man's waist and meeting every thrust until Cullen finds the right bed-rocking pace. “More. _More.”_

 


	11. Chapter 11

He’s giggling… literally _giggling like a teenager_ as he hikes a leg over to straddle Cullen’s waist, the warrior gazing up at him as if Dorian were Urthemiel himself. He’s spent his whole life trying to appear as beautiful as one look from Cullen makes him feel.

Grabbing Cullen’s wrists, he pins them to the end of bed and smiles wickedly. “I’ve got you,” he teases, letting his hard cock rub against the other man’s stomach.

The Commander answers this by rebelliously rolling his hips, lifting Dorian up off the bed. “Keep telling yourself that, if you must,” he replies gruffly, so Dorian leans down to clamp his teeth on Cullen’s bottom lip. The kiss that follows is vengefully affectionate, and he would lose himself in it forever if it wasn’t for the feeling like he’s being watched.

He glances up to see a pair of eyes peering over the edge of the bed.

“Uhm,” he manages as he pulls away.

Beneath him, Cullen stiffens, and not in a good way. “Sorry -- d-did I do something wrong?” he stammers, making Dorian look down on him with wild eyes.

The warrior looks so fragile in that moment, Dorian breaks a little. It would be so easy, _too_ easy, just to speak a few words and destroy him. It’s not like Dorian’s never done it before… wanted something so bad that he annihilates it so he doesn’t have to deal with the not having, and it terrifies him that maybe it’s all he knows how to do.

Instead he just puts a single finger over Cullen’s lips. Shakes his head in a subtle warning. Cullen lifts himself up to sitting with Dorian in his lap, mesmerized, like he’s been summoned by the Calling of an Archdemon’s song.

“No… it’s just…” the mage answers with a small smile, gesturing with his eyes. “We have an audience…”

Mortified, Cullen jerks his head around to the edge of the bed. “Dagonye!” he barks, and Dorian is back to giggling as they watch the mabari scurry away.


	12. Chapter 12

Cullen squeezed at his hand, worrying at his knuckles where they’d smashed into the bookcase, and scanned the floor for any remaining shards of glass. Satisfied he had cleaned up the mess from his earlier fit, he closed his eyes and focused on the throbbing under his glove.

But he hurt all over.

The door opened, and Cullen quickly corrected his posture, turning to see who in the world had come to bother him now.

It was both the first and last person he wanted to see.

“Commander,” Dorian greeted him with none of his usual smarm. “The Inquisitor requests your presence in the war room. I am to escort you there with all haste.”

Cullen’s heart fluttered in anxiety. “Alright... has something happened?” he asked as he followed the mage out onto the ramparts.

“Yes.”

“W-What is it?” he pleaded, struggling to keep up with the other man through the aching in his bones.

“You’ll find out soon enough,” Dorian answered, and led him the rest of the way in silence: past Solas, meditating on a couch in his level of the tower, past Varric scribbling solemnly onto a piece of parchment by the fire.

“Shhh!!! _There they are,”_ he heard someone with an Orlesian accent whisper. He tried to whip around and find the source of the noise, but Dorian caught his arm, and pulled him stumbling into the corridor beyond.

The war room was empty. This did not seem to bother Dorian, however, who put a hand on Cullen’s shoulder as if to lead him towards the tree stump in the middle.

Sensing a trap, he turned on the mage and growled. “Dorian, if you brought me in here just to do it on the war table, then you’ve--”

“Well, that’s not a _terrible_ idea, but no,” Dorian interrupted, shutting him down. He proceeded towards the table, and leaned against it with his arms crossed. “No, the setting is not intended to be seductive or romantic. Don’t insult me,” the mage scoffed, rolling his eyes. “It’s intended to be both practical, in that it is isolated from prying ears and distractions,” he continued, wandering around to the other side, where he leaned against the table with both hands.  “And symbolic. You, my dear Commander, need a strategy.”

Cullen frowned, not sure what to think of the mage’s authoritative stance. “For?”

“For this lyrium conundrum,” Dorian answered, hand teasing at the flame of a candle. “I assume my potions have stopped working?”

“Do you not think we’ve tried that?” Cullen argued, fighting back a bitter laugh, and avoiding the question. “Josie has sent scores of letters… Leliana has sent her agents on official expeditions… _no one knows_ how to--”

Dorian held up a hand to quiet him, eyes closed. Cullen was clearly testing his patience. “You misunderstand me. I’m not talking about some miracle cure in some forbidden temple at the ends of the earth,” he said, pointing at the edge of the map.  “I’m talking about you.” He pointed at Cullen’s pounding heart. “Accepting. The way. Things. Are. And learning _how_ to live with it.”

Cullen had no answer to that.

“You know what you’re like?” Dorian asked with biting fascination. “You’re like the old man, whose knees have gone bad, so he needs to walk with a cane. But he’s stubborn, he doesn’t want to be old, and so he walks without it. And instead, ends up falling on his arse and hurting himself. _Needlessly_. That’s you. You’re an old man.”

“I’m not an old man,” Cullen pouted. “I’m only thirt--”

“Doesn’t matter,” Dorian cut in. “This isn’t about your age. This is about your _experience.”_

Brow furrowed, Cullen let his eyes roam over the map -- anywhere, he’d rather be _anywhere_ than here, in this room, under Dorian’s scrutinizing gaze.

“You’ve been through things,” the mage was saying. “Terrible things. And they’ve taken something out of you. And you will _never_ be the same.”

Wounded, Cullen met his eyes at that. He’d felt weak all day, but now there was a different kind of strength that was seeping out of him, or perhaps it had never been there in the first place. There had never been any hope of being the man he once was. On some days, he would have considered that a compliment.

Dorian must have seen the effect his words had, because his expression softened considerably. “But I do not say this to discourage you, Amatus,” he said quietly.

The mage picked up one of the small metal pieces on the map, one that signified an entire company of soldiers. “You’re not an idiot, Cullen. I recognize this. Because you only have so many of these little things,” Dorian pondered, studying the marker carefully. “You understand, you only have so many soldiers, so many horses, so many... supplies, so many swords. But what you need to get into your head,” he said, voice getting harsher as he set the piece down on the map and tipped it over like the defeated king in chess. “Is that you only have so much _stamina_. And forgive me, if I’m a mite selfish, and want you to spend a little of that stamina on me,” he scolded.

Cullen just hung his head low. He didn’t have the energy to argue with Dorian, and that unfortunately meant he was right.

“You think I didn’t see this coming? _Oh…”_ Now it was Dorian’s turn to laugh bitterly. “I _saw_ it coming. For the past week, you’ve been too exhausted at the end of the day to bend me over _any_ kind of surface,” he said, gesturing wildly at the war table. “You’re asleep before your head hits the pillow. And I’m not so concerned about you neglecting _me,_ as I am about you neglecting yourself. You’re depriving yourself of my good company,” he said, turning up his nose, and Cullen couldn’t help but let out a tiny snort of disdainful amusement.

Dorian gestured with his hand, casting an enchantment on himself so he could walk right through the table and be at Cullen’s side in the next instant. He held onto Cullen by the only part of his arms that weren’t protected by his armor, fingers kneading, massaging.

“Your body is trying to tell you something, Cullen,” the mage spoke in barely more than a whisper. “And if you ignore it, it’s not going to just… _shut up._ It’ll only get worse if you don’t start taking care of yourself.”

Dorian took to straightening the cloak around Cullen’s shoulders, inspecting all the pieces of his armor to make sure they were in their proper place. “Here are your options: walk with a cane. Or don't!” He drew back his hands in merciless surrender. _“Don't_ walk with the cane, and one day you will fall, and you will _never_ get back up.”

Pressing his lips together, Cullen tried to swallow and wondered when his throat had gotten so dry. “I take it the cane is a metaphor?”

“It is,” Dorian answered, pleased. “I’m not sure what for, but I have some suggestions.”

“Such as?” Cullen rasped.

Dorian nodded, only too happy to elaborate. “In my homeland, every day, in the afternoon when it’s very hot, everything shuts down. Shops close, workers put down their tools, everyone goes home and relaxes for a couple of hours. And then they go back to it. We call it _riposo,”_ he explained. “That’s what I think you need. Take some time, to rest, every day. You don’t necessarily have to sleep, but don’t do anything stressful or exerting. Just…” Dorian’s eyes brightened with possibility. “Something that makes you feel young again. Dare I say, something _fun.”_

Cullen thought this over for a moment. “That sounds… manageable,” he sulked.

“Except today, I think you need the remainder of the day off,” Dorian ordered, his demeanor returning to its normal aloof self. “You need to go up to your bed, and snuggle up with Dagonye, and rest while the Inquisitor and I cover for you.”

“She put you up to this, didn’t she,” Cullen groaned, wincing as he realized they’d been talking about him behind his back. The Inquisitor was well known by now to be a terrible secret keeper.

“No,” Dorian replied, trying not let the corners of his mouth turn into a smile. “But don’t expect to throw things at my best friend and punch defenseless books without me having something to say about it,” he chided.

That put Cullen on the defensive again. “I didn’t _mean_ to--”

Dorian stopped him with a clap of hands on his pauldrons. “I’m not angry with you,” he said, staring Cullen down to make the words sink in. “Just _worried_. When I’m _worried_ about someone, I yell at them. It’s my thing,” he shrugged.

Cullen took a deep breath, and covered Dorian’s hands with his own, holding them against his shoulders. “I just don’t… want to be a burden to anyone,” he lamented, at which Dorian rolled his eyes. “I want to pull my own weight.”

“Well then perhaps we need to redefine what your weight is,” the mage countered. “Surely you have some lieutenants, that you can trust to do your job on occasion.”

Cullen conceded this point with a little tilt of his head.

“That’s not a bad idea, you know,” Dorian pointed out. “Because if this lyrium thing doesn’t kill you, something else will.”

Cullen laughed at how ridiculously blunt the other man was being. _“Harsh,”_ he grumbled, but couldn’t keep himself from smiling.

Dorian stepped closer to him, smirking as he looked Cullen up and down with heavily lidded eyes. “And maybe…” he murmured, pulling Cullen to him by the belt around his waist, until their mouths were only inches apart. “If you behave yourself, and show _marked improvement…”_

The way Dorian pulled away with a little flutter of his lashes was _not fair,_ and Cullen could have easily lost his balance for how badly he wanted him at that moment. “I will _let_ you do me on the war table,” Dorian teased, and then sauntered towards the door.

  
“Old man.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I dunno, like I wanted to go a different direction with the lyrium thing and this is what I came up with? That Cullen and Dorian play chess during the day because Cullen has to take breaks from his work or else he'll just collapse from exhaustion? IDK.  
> Also I just need Dorian calling Cullen and old man forever I just think that's super cute and hot for some reason?


	13. Chapter 13

The next time he called Cullen an old man, it got him slammed against the door to the war room, the Commander pinning him on the inside of it with the most vicious glare and his strong hands. Dorian bit his lip and let out a helpless, wanton moan.

Cullen drew back a little, surprised. “You’re not supposed to _like_ it when I look at you like that?” he chuckled, going from murderous to adorable in the blink of an eye.

“Oh, I _love_ it when you look at me like you could kill me,” Dorian hissed, pulling at Cullen so he could grind up against his thigh. If they were going to do it in here, they needed to be quick about it. “I know, I’m slightly fucked up,” he admitted.

Cullen went to work undoing Dorian’s armor, a task he’d become alarmingly adept at. “That’s alright…” he said shyly. “I have my own… perversions...”

 _“Oh?”_ Dorian pried, waggling one eyebrow at the Commander. “Well don’t keep me in suspense.”

Cullen just shook his head slightly and kept his eyes focused on Dorian’s buckles.

“Come on,” Dorian needled, pulling his leather harness over his head and letting it drop to the ground.

Sighing, the warrior glared as he acquiesced, then honed in on Dorian’s trousers. “I really like it when… your eyes water, and your eye makeup gets all blurred and -- and runs down your face a little,” he stammered, and chewed on his lip mischievously.

Dorian thought for a moment while his trousers were being pulled off his hips. “Well that really only happens when I’ve choked on your cock…” he realized.

Cullen was decidedly _not_ making eye contact.

He caught the warrior by surprise, shoving him stumbling backwards and striding back into his space, walking out of his trousers and underpants in the process. “… You… _wicked_ man,” he purred scathingly, and kissed Cullen something fierce. Once he was satisfied the man was breathless he wrapped his arms around his neck, pulling himself up and locking his legs around Cullen’s waist. The warrior caught his weight easily and carried him the rest of the way.

Cullen lay him down on the table, careful not to disturb anything. The low burning candles nearby bathed Dorian’s skin in warm light, and Dorian smirked as the other man drank him in with his eyes.

“So, General… where shall you begin your assault?” he asked in the most seductive voice he could muster.

Cullen pondered this for a moment. “I think… right here,” he mumbled before latching his mouth onto Dorian's neck, sucking at his pulse with little nibbles that went straight to his spine. Cullen was still in full armor, the fur of his cloak and the stubble on his chin tickling him as the Commander made his way down to his collarbone, his chest, his nipple, lowering the mage's defense with a series of strategically placed kisses.

Dorian just pet at his curly hair and resigned to the attention, moving into Cullen's touches enticingly as the other man revered his body with his lips, pressing his warm mouth over his stomach and his hipbone.

 _"Maker_ you're gorgeous," Cullen breathed, and then took Dorian's cock into his mouth.

He arched his back into the delicious torture of it, Cullen's lips so soft around him it made him want to plead for mercy. He thrust up into Cullen's mouth a little... knew he shouldn't, but he couldn't help it for how good it was, so warm and perfect as Cullen swallowed him whole.

But the Commander was an awful tease, even if he didn't mean to be, only doing enough with his mouth to get Dorian exquisitely hard before pulling away. He kissed a little trail down Dorian's cock where it curved up into his belly, and then further down, pulling Dorian's legs up as the mage watched him, neck straining to see as Cullen massaged at his perineum with his tongue... and then even further down.

Dorian's head fell back against the table with a thud as Cullen licked at his entrance, working his tongue in little teasing circles. "So good..." he encouraged huskily, as close as he would ever get to begging, even if he thought he might die if Cullen stopped. "Cullen... you're so -- ah!" The other man answered by shoving his tongue inside, and Dorian gave up on trying to talk. Precum smeared over his stomach, his legs trembled with each thrust of Cullen's tongue but it was only enough to make him want more. He tried to spit some criticizing remark in Cullen's direction, snap at him to hurry the fuck up, but the words wouldn't come this time. He wanted this, wanted to see what Cullen would do, how far he would go on his own. He shivered, surrendering to the pleasure and the little growly moans that wanted to escape his throat, until Cullen was finished licking him open.

He peered down when he felt Cullen pull away, meeting the warrior's adorably hopeful eyes between his legs. All Dorian could manage in response was to reach down to beckon him, with a little crook of his finger and a weak smile.

Cullen playfully nipped at his thigh and then complied, standing up to unbuckle his belt. Mischievously stretching his leg out, Dorian rubbed at his lover's erection with the sole of his foot and his toes, feeling it twitch with interest through layers of fabric. That was a response he'd have to investigate more some other time; right then he needed it inside him, _now._ He and Cullen exchanged heated looks, and then the warrior was on him in the next moment, covering his mouth with a bruising kiss as he pulled out his cock and began to press inside.

Dorian wrapped his legs around Cullen's waist, trying to pull him in deeper, control things like he always did, even with a strapping warrior holding him to the table with his weight. But Cullen wouldn't budge this time, smirking down at him with an affectionate gleam in his eye as he held back, stretching Dorian open so slowly he wanted to kill him for how good it felt. He attempted a glare but was pretty sure it manifested itself on his face as a pout.

Leaning down, Cullen pressed his mouth over Dorian's neck, almost an apology as he finally slid all the way inside, and Dorian's spine came alight as the other man groaned into his skin. He shifted his hips up, opening himself even more for when Cullen finally started to move.

It only took a few thrusts for Cullen to find his sweet spot, and Maker help him, Dorian nearly sobbed for how good it felt. His eyes were shut tight against the stars that filled his vision, but he could feel heat from the nearby candles as they surged with his rebelling magic.

He startled, heart doing a somersault in his chest as his eyes flew open, afraid he might set the room on fire. But two strong hands caught his and pinned them to the table, lacing the fingers together and squeezing in reassurance. "I've got you," Cullen murmured, and nodded at Dorian's subsequent look of disbelief. Dorian glanced over at a candle, which seemed to have gone back to normal, and then back up to his lover. If Cullen thought he could handle it, then maybe it would be alright. He frantically nodded for Cullen to keep going, his whole body trembling now under the effort of staying still.

Dorian lost himself to it after that, experiencing each of Cullen's thrusts like a confession or a promise. As the warrior pressed warm, comforting kisses to his shoulder, pleasure washed over him in waves. He couldn't tell if he was drowning or flying, burning or freezing, tingling with the potential for magic that never quite materialized, humming just under the surface of his skin. Pulsing, pooling into his core until finally it overtook him.

"Ama--! Unnnh!" Somehow Cullen knew to fuck him just a little bit faster as he came, and Dorian's whole body seized with it, tightening around Cullen's cock so he was pulled over the edge with him, coming inside him with a few sharp, stuttering thrusts.

Dorian fought to come back to his senses as Cullen kissed at him lazily, nuzzling him all over in a manner which he must have picked up from his dog. Dorian managed to open his eyes to find Cullen looking down at him, beaming with adoration as little drops of sweat trickled down his brow.

"We should not tarry here," Dorian heard himself pant, knowing it was not the appropriate thing to say at the moment but it was the _truth_. They could have been discovered at any moment, and he did not want to be responsible for Josephine or the Inquisitor fainting. Leliana wouldn't faint most likely, she'd just have something to hold over their heads for the rest of their lives.

"Dorian..." Cullen whispered, breaking him away from his thoughts.

He turned and met his eyes. "Hm?" he answered, returning Cullen's shy smile.

Cullen traced a finger over Dorian's cheek, and licked his lips, thoughtfully. "I love you."

Seconds went by as Dorian looked up at him, dumbfounded, searching in Cullen's eyes for the answers to too many questions. He hesitated long enough for Cullen's brows to stitch together, with what threatened to be hurt or worry, before surging up to kiss him. He didn't have words, he didn't have a reply, he didn't have anything. But he could pour whatever was in his heart into the place where their mouths met, until they were both breathless and bruised, and that would have to be enough for now.


	14. Chapter 14

“Though all before me is shadow, yet shall the Maker be my guide. I shall not be left to wander the drifting roads of the beyond..."

Cullen broke his recitation of the Chant as he felt movement beside him, looking over to see Dorian kneeling there, giving him a bashful sideways glance. Cullen's heart swelled, and he reached out to the Tevinter, taking his hand in his own until their fingers were intertwined.

"For there is no darkness in the Maker’s light," he continued, still gazing at Dorian as if he could apply the next verse directly to him. "And nothing that He has wrought shall be lost.”

They knelt there for a few moments in silence, Cullen watching as the lights from the many candles sparkled in Dorian's eyes. This man... this wonderful, beautiful, sometimes infuriating man... how could he ever go on without him?

"I only know one verse from the Chant," the mage said at last.

Cullen snorted in mock disapproval. "Well let’s hear it, then?" he prompted, squeezing Dorian's hand.

“No matter their power, their triumphs, the mage-lords of Tevinter were men and doomed to die."

Cullen grunted, mulling this over. Of all the Chant, why would Dorian single out a verse like that? Perhaps while Cullen wrote verses on his heart to keep him strong, Dorian wrote verses on his heart to keep him humble.

“...Still relevant," he realized with a shrug, and they both chuckled and squeezed hands once more.

 

"You _are_ referring to Corypheus, right?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why is kneeling beside Cullen and praying with him not an option in the game? ;-;
> 
> Thank you for reading! I'm becausenobreeches on tumblr if you would like to flail at me about this fic or Cullrian or just Dragon Age in general :3


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A requested drabble from tumblr with the prompt "Dagonye being a wingwoman". This would take place before they started their relationship.

Tic. Tic. Tic. Tic.

Dorian looked up from his book, straining his ears at the unfamiliar sound echoing through the library, like pebbles being thrown at a window pane, except the only window was behind him and the sound wasn’t coming from there.

Tic tic tic tic tic tic tic.

The sound came closer and closer, approaching Dorian with purpose until finally the source of the noise came into view, Cullen’s pet bear Dagonye, an enormous creature which apparently passed in the south for a dog.

The mabari’s long claws tapped across the stone until she was almost in Dorian’s lap, whimpering at him urgently with big, round puppy eyes.

“What?” Dorian grumbled over the high-pitched sounds. “I don’t _have_ any bribes for you today,” he argued with her.

But Dagonye was persistent, tugging at the metal pieces of Dorian’s trousers and grousing at him a little until finally, it occurred to Dorian, she might be trying to tell him something was _wrong._

“What is it?” Dorian said, shivering as all the blood rushed out of his face at his alarm. “Show me,” he demanded, standing up so fast he got a bit dizzy and had to lean his hand on the mabari’s muscular shoulder. And that’s when it occurred to him that he hadn’t eaten since dawn.

He followed Dagonye as she trotted, down the stairs to the first floor, then through the door, across the main hall, and out into the garden. Not taking off without him, but looking back impatiently at him every few steps like she wanted to. The two of them almost tripped over each other a few times, until finally they reached the source of Dagonye’s distress.

It was Cullen. Eating. Outside. In the garden. Which was, Dorian had to admit, a great deal out of the ordinary, but certainly nothing to ring the alarm about.

In fact, Cullen looked perfectly content sitting there on the bench, streams of late afternoon sunlight falling on his face, some kind of sandwich wrapped in a cloth napkin in his lap. “Dorian!” the Commander finally said when he saw the mage and the mabari heading toward him. “And Dagonye, where did you run off to?” Then Cullen seemed to finally notice the agitated look on Dorian’s face. “What’s the matter?” he gasped.

“I was hoping you could tell me,” Dorian protested. “Dagonye made me think you were in some sort of trouble.”

Cullen looked over at the dog with a quizzical expression and then back over to Dorian. “No, the only trouble _I’m_ having is deciding what to do with this extra sandwich I was given by the ladies in the kitchens,” he chuckled.

“Oh,” Dorian said, frowning at the dog, a little suspicious. Mabari were known to be highly intelligent; surely she was up to something, but what? “Well I’m sorry to have disturbed your lunch, Commander. I’ll leave you be,” he said with a small bow of his head, and turn on his heel to get out of there before his stomach could growl.

“Wait… Dorian,” Cullen called, and Dorian stopped and looked over his shoulder at him. “Have you eaten?” he asked shyly.

“I… no, I haven’t,” Dorian admitted.

“Well then why don’t you stay and share my sandwich?” the Commander offered, scooting over on the bench to make room for the other man, and Dagonye echoed the invitation with happy bark.

“As… long as I’m not intruding,” Dorian said slowly, eying the dog so she would know, he knew _exactly_ what she was up to.

Dagonye only wagged her tail and drooled innocently beside them as the two humans spent the rest of the afternoon in the garden together, discovering that they both liked sandwiches and chess.

(It would take a few more interventions on Dagonye’s part before they figured out they liked each other.)


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A requested drabble from tumblr with the prompt: "rainy morning lazy smooches talking about a future together"   
> Time-wise, I guess this would happen after the last official chapter of the fic.

Cullen lay there in a haze of pleasure, too content and sated to move any part of his body but his lips, nose pressed into Dorian’s cheek as they shared soft, sloppy, languid kisses and listened to the rain drum against the roof. Eyes barely open, he watched as Dorian kept his eyes closed and tipped his head for more kisses, always leaning in for more without ever really closing the gap. A lifetime of cautiousness and fear of rejection that Cullen wished he could wash away with all the gentleness of the rain. 

Thunder rumbled in the distance, rolling from the south end of the keep over to the west, like two giants having a lazy conversation of their own in the clouds. It wasn’t long before Cullen heard the sound of claws clicking across the floor of his loft, and then a huge mass deftly lifted itself onto the end of the bed. 

Cullen snickered as his mabari Dagonye huffed a put-out sigh and collapsed onto his legs, tail wagging a little anxiously as she looked at him with a quirked brow.

Dorian grunted from where he was nestled into Cullen’s shoulder. “Your dog. Is ridiculous,” he yawned, running his hand along the smooth skin of Cullen’s flank. 

Cullen shushed him and pressed a kiss into dark, untamed hair and nuzzled at the warm softness with his nose. “She can’t help it. Besides, I think it’s cute she’s scared of thunder.”

“Don’t encourage her,” Dorian grumbled. “This bed isn’t big enough for three.”

Dagonye responded to that with a high-pitched whimper, just on the very edge of hearing.

“Aww, don’t listen to him, Dagonye,” Cullen cooed. “Come on, then,” he invited, and she belly-crawled her way further onto the bed until she was neatly sandwiched between the two humans’ legs, the blankets sliding towards the center under her extra bulk. Cullen reached down and scritched behind Dagonye’s ears to comfort her, another rumble of thunder sounding outside and making her shiver a little against his legs.

The three of them fell silent for a time after that, the only sounds the slow build of the rain and Dagonye’s occasional protests. Even with the storm outside, it felt surprisingly calm, peaceful, the way that Cullen’s own mind rarely ever was. 

“I think I could do this forever,” Cullen finally murmured, and Dorian blinked his eyes open, still drifting between awake and asleep. The mage’s brows stitched together just the tiniest bit, entreating Cullen to elaborate. “Lie here with you.”

Dorian sighed, and wrapped an arm around Cullen’s waist to pull himself closer, arranging himself around the dog. _“Forever_ is an _awfully_ long time,” he pointed out, something like a warning in his sleep-scratchy voice.

“I mean it, Dorian,” Cullen assured him, keeping his voice the perfect balance of gentle and strong, unyielding in conviction but unweighted by demands. The heavens decided to punctuate this declaration with another peal of thunder, closer than before, enough to make the loosely fitted parts of tower rattle around them.

The lean muscles of Dorian’s neck shifted as he swallowed, loud in the otherwise quiet space. “I don’t know if I can _do_ forever, amatus,” he croaked.

Cullen leaned over and pressed a long, determined kiss to his brow. “I know. I’m not asking you to. I just need you to know that I would,” he whispered. 

Dorian answered this with another ragged sigh, and then they fell silent again, leaving the rest of the morning’s conversations to the giants in the clouds.  


End file.
